


Quiet Corners

by ophiion



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Comfort, Could be read as romantic, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Other, Romantic Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-27 12:39:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13248423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ophiion/pseuds/ophiion
Summary: Pansy Parkinson is not much of a wallflower, but when the notion takes her it's easiest for her to blend into the background and press her back tight to the wall. Charlie Weasley has an annoying habit of always picking her out in the crowd.





	Quiet Corners

**Author's Note:**

> I am so very excited to share this short little ficlet with you all, a short writing exercise to warm me up for something longer. Hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

Pansy Parkinson was good at hiding on the outskirts of events, she was a small slip of a thing which made it easy for her to stand just by the wall and watch her surroundings carefully and with a certain degree of calculation. She could have easily stepped into the centre of the room, captured people’s attention but she had always been better at observation and opening her mouth had never been met the most positive of responses. It was easier to watch the others interact from afar, they called it Gala and as a member of the Hogwarts Staff (Professor of Potions and Magizoology enthusiast) she had been asked to attend. Her eyes scanned the crowds carefully. Just when she felt safe enough to breathe, a familiar voice spoke to her left.  
  
       “Hello Parkinson.” Charlie Weasley grinned at her, eyes full of mirth and she found herself scowling at him a little given that she had almost jumped from her skin.  
  
       “Charlie.” She greeted with a nod, through slightly gritted teeth and he threw his head back in a kind laugh. She found herself rolling her eyes and shifting her back against the cold wall behind her, fingers tightening on her second glass of wine as she brought it to her lips.  
  
       “You look absolutely _fuckin’_ miserable.” He said slowly, moving to lean just next to her, his eyes following hers as she watched over the crowd before her. “Scared something might have bested you?” He quizzed, the statement was a challenge. She knew that much. He was testing her pride and she lifted her nose slightly into the air. Though upon remembering who it was she was talking to she sagged back against the wall.  
  
      “Perhaps, I am,” She said slowly, statement careful, “Your family doesn’t exactly love me.”  
  
       “Since when did you give a fuck about anyone’s opinions?”  
  
        “Since I started teaching your nieces and nephews and your brother-in-law tried to have me removed from my position.” Pansy stated easily, Charlie went quiet and took a sip from the small whiskey glass held in his hand.  
  
        “He can be very paranoid sometimes.”  
  
        “I wouldn’t know.”  
  
They lapsed into comfortable silence, she supposed they were an odd pair of friends given their family’s history but when she had arrived in Romania as part of his new team they had managed to hit it off immediately. They both drank a lot fire whiskey, tamed dragons and watched the sky wane from morning to night and from night to morning, drunk on Muggle liquor. They had talked about everything from family pressure, to her abysmal home life, to his stuffy home life, to the fact that they both just wanted a taste of freedom. She felt his eyes on her, he had a knack for making her shiver.  
  
       “The Pansy Parkinson I know wouldn’t fear what some people who have a certain misconception about her think.” He paused, “The Pansy Parkinson I know ran – roaring, might I add – towards a dragon with a bleeding leg to stop it killing fifty people.”  
  
       “Oh stop it.” She sniffed, shuffling her left a little, “I didn’t do _that_ much.”  
  
       “You could think of my family as the dragon?”  
  
       “A pack of very catty dragons.”  
  
       “You did offer Harry to Voldemort.”  
  
       “Foolish of me.”  
  
       “You were seventeen, terrified and had no idea what the consequences would be for you if you didn’t make a grand gesture. Your parents were already dead, you didn’t have anything else to lose.” They lapsed into silence once more, his free hand slid around her shoulders and he pulled into an uncomfortable side hug. He had never been the best at physical comfort. “They can be very forgiving under the right circumstances.” He stated slowly, Pansy’s eyes however met those of his mother who had apparently managed to pick her son out from the shadows. Though she was unsure if Molly would recognise her it still made her nervous when the Weasley Matriarch's nose wrinkled with something akin to disdain.  
  
       “Your mother is staring at us.”  
  
       “Let her stare, you are my very good friend and I won’t be deterred by the truly, terrifying gaze of Molly Weasley.”  
  
        “She is incredibly formidable and I imagine she will grill you later.”  
  
        “And I’ll tell her all about the time, in the Mountains of Carpathia, when you saved my life in the most impractical shoes in the world.”  
  
        “I doubt she’d be pleased to know that we were both drunk on Palinka.”  
  
        “Which we picked up from Hungary.”  
  
         “Because we’d slipped down there for intel on Dragon populations.”  
  
         “And the markets.” He sounded amused and she relaxed a little, swirling the liquid in her glass a little before bringing it to her lips. She laughed softly as she turned her eyes up to meet his.  
  
         “You are ridiculous, Charlie Weasley,” She paused, “Distracting me from my brooding, discomfort.” He grinned in response and leaned in closer, lowering his head to whisper in the shell of her ear.  
  
           “Care to make this a real scandal?”  
  
            “Always.” She responded with a sharp toothed grin, setting her drink and his own on the table nestled in the nook close by as the tempo of the music changed to something sensuous and slow. “I do hope you remember how to Tango.”


End file.
